


"Wangoballwime?"

by Strange_Archivist



Series: Everything, Every Things [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 11:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_Archivist/pseuds/Strange_Archivist
Summary: Mike realizes the unfairness of a world in which he’ll have to pluck up the courage to ask this girl to the snowball all over again. It had been hard enough the first time, when she didn’t even understand what a dance was, but now she almost certainly knows, the TV has probably taught her that, and what if she doesn’t want to go with a waste-oid like him after all?ORGrown-up Mike and El read their ten-year old daughter the Harry Potter books. Mike relates to Harry's plight of asking a girl to the Yule Ball in book 4, and thinks back to his days of asking girls, okay, one girl, to a certain snowball.





	"Wangoballwime?"

**Author's Note:**

> So we see El/Jane and Mike have an adorable time at the Snowball at the end of season 2, but the whole time I kept thinking that Mike had to have asked her again, how was she to know there was going to be another one?
> 
> And then I thought back to Mike's adorable ineptitude at asking her to the snowball in season 1 and then, Harry Potter being my original number one fandom, I thought back to Harry's troubles getting a date for the Yule Ball and this fic was born. I own neither Harry Potter, nor Stranger Things characters.

_Mike figures it's not a coincidence that their ten year old daughter falls in love with the Harry Potter books. An entire school full of and celebrating kids who can move stuff without touching it... well, his wife falls in love with the series too._

_And Mike likes the books too, sure. I mean, he still prefers X-Men and is glad there's still a lot of X-Men appreciation in their house, but yeah, the world is fun and the characters funny. So he doesn't mind that they, as a family, take turns reading the books out loud together each night. He does want to know what happens too._

_But it isn't until they read the fourth book that Mike really starts to really relate to the characters._

_One specific line instantly transports him back to late November, 1984._

_He reads, “A week ago, Harry would have said finding a partner for a dance would be a cinch compared to taking on a Hungarian Horntail. But now that he had done the latter, and was facing the prospect of asking a girl to the ball, he thought he’d rather have another round with the Horntail.”_

_Oh man, been there, he thinks._

  
_______________________

 

It's Black Friday, 1984, and for once, Mike is glad of his mom's day after Thanksgiving early morning shopping antics because her whirlwind of sweeping through the house to get herself and Holly ready means Mike can get to the cabin sooner.

Hopper lets him come over more often than just about anyone, but once a week still doesn't feel like enough. But it's more than anything he ever thought he'd get, so he doesn't complain. Still, the idea of spending all day with her feels luxurious. So he combs his hair and dresses quickly and hops on his bike just after his mom pulls the car out of the garage.

He’s greeted by Chief Hopper’s grumpy and tired-looking face. “Mmmph,” he says, which Mike thinks is pretty articulate for the chief considering he probably hasn’t had any coffee yet. “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” Mike replies, noting the chief already looks dressed for work.

He looks more annoyed at that response than usual. “Yeah, well, not all of us have the day off, kid.”

El - Jane, he’s not sure which to call her still, looks tired too, but excited. Her eyes are bleary, but light up when they land on Mike. “You came early,” she says, smiling.

Mike tries very hard not to flush at her excitement, but he’s pretty sure he fails. “Yeah well, my mom gets up stupid early every year after Thanksgiving to go shopping.”

The girl nods knowingly. “Black Friday deals. Biggest sale of the year.”

Mike and Hopper both glance at the TV blaring ads.

“Yeah, well, she stopped dragging me around with her about five years ago, and I told my dad I’d be hanging around with the guys and Max all day, so we can have the whole day if - if you want.” His voice quavers under the chief’s hard look. Okay, his voice has been quavering a lot lately, but it quavers a lot more under the big guy’s stare. Mike still feels a little bad for yelling at him and punching him that night at the Byers house, and he suspects the chief hasn’t forgotten the events either. That’s the only reason he seems to have more of a problem with Mike than any of the other guys or Max, right? Right?

Hopper clears his throat and straps on his gun. “You kids make sure you follow the rules.” They know he means the formerly named “Don’t be stupid” rules, now the “don’t draw attention to yourselves and get found out” rules.

“We will,” El says, unfazed by his gun and handing him his hat and coat.

He motions towards the TV, “And don’t watch that trash all day, read some of those books I got you, ok? If you wanna go to school, you’re gonna have to catch up in some areas.”

“Ok.”

“There’s a bunch of leftovers in the fridge you can have for lunch.”

“I know.”

Hopper seems reluctant to leave, but El has just handed him a tupperware that must be his own lunch and he looks around as if disappointed he has no reason to linger there longer.

“Alright. Well, see ya.”

“See ya.”

He’s gone, and Mike resists letting out a sigh of relief, though it’s a near thing.

El turns to him. “You’re here!” She says this every time, as if surprised a bit that he’s really there. He supposes he gets it. He sometimes still feels like the time he gets to spend with her is a dream.

“Well, yeah.” He blushes a bit. “So what do you feel like doing first?”

“Breakfast?” she asks. “I haven’t had any yet. Had to help Hopper find his keys.”

He’s already wolfed down two pop-tarts, but these days he feels so stretched and achey and hungry all the damn time, growing pains his mom called it, that his stomach rumbles at the thought of more.

“Sure,” he says.

There’s plenty of scrambled eggs with American cheese leftover from Hopper’s breakfast and El scoops them onto two plates for them while Mike toasts eggos. He smiles when he catches her putting maple syrup on her eggs too.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” he asks, now watching her pile peanut butter and maple syrup onto her eggos.

She does a sort of shrug. “Small,” she says. “Not like families on TV.”

He nods. “Just you and Hopper then?”

“Yes. But we had lots of good stuff to eat.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“We read recipes from a book, an old one, he said it was his mom’s. Made turkey and stuffing and potatoes and green beans and pumpkin pie.”

“That sounds pretty good. Who knew the chief was such a good cook?”

“Been watching cooking shows. Julia Child.”

Mike laughs.

“I like Thanksgiving,” El declares. “I like the food.”

“Yeah, me too,” Mike admits. “Everyone says they hate winter here, but I dunno, I like Thanksgiving and Christmas and getting to have snowball fights and drink hot chocolate and stuff.”

“Snowball fights?”

“Yeah, like, when it snows a lot, and the snow’s wet, you pack the snow and make it into snowmen or build igloos or make snowballs or whatever. Me and the guys had a pretty epic snowball fight a few years back when we got really snowed in. Will had to stay at my house cause the roads were so bad, his mom couldn’t drive over, but we didn’t care, it was like this big, long three day sleepover…” he stops talking when he realizes she isn’t really listening.

“El?”

“Did I miss the snowball?”

He’s thrown off for a minute because he was ready to launch into a big story about Dustin and Lucas’s snow-fort made out of damn near impenetrable blocks of icy snow they’d watered down and formed using empty margarine tubs Dustin’s mom had saved, about the farthest thing away from a middle school dance.

But he picks up her thread immediately. He’d promised after all. Those had been some of his last words to her before she’d disappeared.

“Oh, um, yeah. But it’s ok. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. Her face looks almost as drawn as he thinks his must have last year when Troy asked him if he was too afraid to go to the dance without his “freak girlfriend” to protect him.

Without thinking, he says, “that’s ok. There’s going to be another one this year.” Then promptly chokes on his own eggos, realizing the unfairness of a world in which he’ll have to pluck up the courage to ask this girl to the snowball all over again. It had been hard enough the first time, when she didn’t even understand what a dance was, but now she almost certainly knows, the TV has probably taught her that, and what if she doesn’t want to go with a waste-oid like him after all?

In retrospect, he would realize how stupid his nervousness was, after all, she’d just expressed disappointment at missing the previous year’s snowball AND she’d nearly kissed him just an hour after their being reunited. Or at least, he was pretty sure she would have if Hopper hadn’t interrupted them. (Years later, she would tell him that yes, she wanted to kiss the crap out of him).

But then, in that small kitchen of the cabin, logic had no place in Mike Wheeler’s brain. Every ounce of reasoning had been pushed out to make room for the bubbling mess of hormonal anxiety and self-consciousness Mike figured had a very real chance of turning into vomit.

Looking back into her expectant, fathomless eyes is no help whatsoever. Against his will, he opens his mouth. Maybe he really will vomit. But what comes out isn’t bodily fluid at all.

“Wangoballwime?” So it’s word-vomit. Smooth, Wheeler. So very smooth.

“Wango-what?” she tries to repeat his words back to him, the way she always does when she doesn’t understand a word or phrase, but gives up, and he can’t blame her because, really, what the hell was that?

He takes a sip of milk from his glass and swallows twice to make sure he’s not going to choke again. The liquid does nothing to assuage the sudden dryness of his mouth.

Oh hell, he thinks. “D-you, do you want to go to the snowball with me?”

She smiles. He loves her smile. He wants to make her smile all the time.

“Yes,” she says, and grabs his unoccupied hand across the table.

“Oh. Uh. Cool.”

“Cool.”

  
_______________________

 

_“Why’d you stop reading, daddy?” Sarah asks Mike._

_“Huh?” he looks down at his daughter, then over at his wife on the other end of the couch. She’s casually sipping her tea, but he thinks he sees the hint of a knowing smile in her eyes._

_“Why’d you stop?” their little girl asks again._

_“Oh, um, sorry, just spaced out,” he says, still not fully out of his reverie._

_He considers Harry in a way he hadn’t before and thinks for a moment, you’d rather have another round with a dragon than ask a girl to a dance? Yeah, I feel ya, kid._

_He clears his throat and continues reading, ignoring his wife’s growing smirk._

**Author's Note:**

> “A week ago, Harry would have said finding a partner for a dance would be a cinch compared to taking on a Hungarian Horntail. But now that he had done the latter, and was facing the prospect of asking a girl to the ball, he thought he’d rather have another round with the Horntail.” is a real quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which I encourage you to read (along with all six of the other books) if you haven't already. After you comment on this work, of course :)


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